


Cooking With Boner

by maximum_overboner



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other, food!, fun for all ages!, spaghetti!, useful recipes for all the family!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 19:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10520082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: It is with a heavy heart that I must admit I no longer want to make Undertale content. I want to follow my dreams and be a chef. Here are some of my favourite recipes!





	1. Homemade Spaghetti Sauce

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you understand, but I just love cooking so much!

Italy may look like the boot of Europe, but this sauce will kick you in the face… With _flavour!_ And be charged with grievous bodily harm.

…

… In _taste!_

Serves four people, or if you’re really into pasta at the moment, one and a straggler.

30 grams of butter

15 milliliters of olive oil

1 carrot, stolen from your neighbour’s garden for freshness

1 onion of questionable freshness that you found rolling around in your pantry that you’re going to use anyway because you certainly aren’t going to travel to the store for single onion, you’re a busy person with spaghetti sauce to make. Who buys one onion? Not you, if you want to retain your street cred.

2 stalks of celery, for those that have a compulsive hatred for all things delicious and delight in ruining the meals they make

110 grams of streaky bacon. If I find out the bacon you used wasn’t streaky I will come to your house. I will come to your house, I will hurt you.

450 grams of minced beef

A can of chopped tomatoes

2 bay leaves

An uncomfortable amount of salt

Black pepper

Common sense dictates that I advise you to add two cloves of chopped garlic, but that amount is for children so I believe you should add as many as you can get your hands on, or however many you’re comfortable shoplifting to give you that hedonistic thrill you’ve become addicted to

110 grams mushrooms. If you can’t haphazardly pick and eat those strange smelling ones from the forest, then I’m afraid store bought will have to do.

120 milliliters of beef stock

1 glass of red wine, but keep the bottle on stand by because we both know your husband is out with Suzanne again. He’s wearing cologne. He never wears cologne for you.

30 milliliters of double cream.

a cheekful of tomato puree

oregano

this recipe takes a lot of thyme.

Heat the oil and melt butter in a large pan, much in the way your husband’s heart is melting with his paramour. Add the chopped carrot, onion, streaky bacon, Celery Of Hate and bay leaves. Cook until golden.

Add the minced beef and the garlic, season with salt and pepper. Cook until the pink is destroyed. Sample the wine for flavour. Do the difficult thing and add some to the pan. Cook until the liquid reduces, add oregano. Sample the wine for flavour.

Blend the tomato puree with the stock, adding it to the pan along with the tinned tomatoes. Turn down the heat to low, cover the pan, then go do something else for a while. Tend to the garden, consider mariticide, or take up a crafting project. Chug wine for flavour. Two hours is reasonable. Keep dish topped up with liquid; water will have to do.

Remove from heat, take out the bay leaves so you don’t accidentally eat them and wonder what you’re doing as you chew away like a dying, blinded horse and add the cream. Serve with spaghetti noodles.

_Cook’s tip!!_

If you don’t have any boiled pasta to hand, eating it with your hands as you weep at three in the morning, like you’re eating the guts of a shipmate on a desert island in a desperate bid for survival, is also acceptable. Excellent with garlic bread. Pass out with the wine for flavour after inserting the neck of the bottle into yourself in an attempt to pretend he still loves you. Have an argument after he comes home and finds you flat out on the couch like a tacky, sweating pencil topper that smells uncomfortably of tomato puree.


	2. The Mojito

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cocktails, too!

A vegetarian, and therefore healthy, drink, popular during the summer. Serve in a pitcher or chug it and let loose a howl of rage upon the bride, that tart, for slighting you at your nephew’s christening. Be careful! Much like yourself, they’re stronger than they appear. And much like the bride, easily crushed.

The ingredients are as follows. They serve one person but with the way your life’s been going I would quintuple that amount, Jesus.

1 ½ lime, cut into wedges. Generally centerpieces contain decorative fruits, smuggle some in your cheeks and pretend you’re weeping with joy.

20 fresh mint leaves. Yes, 20. No more, no less. So help me God.

2 ½ teaspoons of granulated sugar

Some ice

65 milliliters of rum. This may be difficult to acquire, we all know you were put on the ‘no-drink’ list after the last wedding. You may need to pay extra or whip out a tit or two. Given the amount you plan on drinking this will happen incidentally, so you may as well get it out of the way.

Soda water, to taste.

Mint to garnish. Do you remember how I said twenty mint leaves? Fuck you.

Place the limes, mint and sugar into a glass and mash with a rolling pin, but given the immediate panic that would inspire I instead recommend the classy option; mash it with your fists. Bruise the mint. Bruise your ego. Add ice and pour over your tit-rum.

At this point security will absolutely be alerted to your presence, so if you’re going to do anything catastrophic like fuck the best man in a fit of attention seeking because Karen said your makeup was tacky at a christening, a _christening, Karen, it was tasteful, don’t pin the blame on anyone else because applying makeup to you is like trying to contour a brick_ , now is the time. The soda water is entirely optional now, throw it in the bouncer’s eyes and make a break for it, cast off your heels and sprint, this skank is about to feel the full wrath of your drunken feet. No, don’t look away children, look, _look at what can happen!_

Garnish with mint and serve.


	3. Sour Cream Dip

1 tub of reduced fat sour cream

½ cup of freshly grated cheese, preferably parmesan

It’s a strange feeling watching something die in front of you, be it a moth or your best friend after he tried to run by a bus ‘for the banter’ and found that despite the bus not being one for conversation it’s certainly capable of holding its own in the much respected ‘death’ category, because it’s watching a cessation. Watching something die ensure that not only do they leave forever, but a part of you does as well, fluttering off like paper on the wind.

“Sick banzt mate,” he burbles, his face a fine mesh of glistening, cracking bone, wrapped in flesh you don’t recognize. You hear the bus toot. It is already twenty five minutes late. It does not care for the lads, and thus you do not care for it.

“Sick bantz,” you choke back as Barry the Lad wheezes his last, dreaming of those bantz. But the bantz, those died with Barry. Nothing could top the bus prank. It couldn’t be done. Heart, soul and squishy, mangled body went into that. Sure, Tim choked to death on a nacho, and that was funny for a while, but you can’t reassemble someone in a casket over a nacho unless they choked so hard their organs shot out of their nose. Now Barry, Barry knew funny. Only the bucket and mop treatment for him. You slipped on him walking out to the pavement, too. Oh Barry. Always had the last laugh.

Season with salt and pepper to taste, serve with chips or party food. An excellent talking point for guests.


	4. Apple Pie

A tasty classic that’s easier than many assume! 

_The pastry requires:_

255 grams of plain flour

A pinch of salt

140 grams of cold butter or if you don’t care about yourself or the people you’re serving this pie to, _margarine_  

6 teaspoons of cold water

_For the filling:_

sugar to taste

An apple tree

Years of your life

Preheat the oven to 200C, 180C for fan ovens, and make sure to keep an eye on it because years of this is going to absolutely decimate your power bill.

Sieve the flour and salt into a bowl. I can’t remember if sieving is actually necessary anymore, but I’m telling you to do it. I’m the chef. You’re not the chef, I’m the chef. Sieve the flour. Break it up like you did you did your last relationship you mess.

Sensually rub the butter into the flour. Take it out for dinner. Woo it. Pay attention to it. Light some candles, take a city break somewhere. The mixture should resemble breadcrumbs.

Incorporate the water into the sexy, naughty breadcrumb mixture you dirty girl. Using a knife, mix the water, firming the mixture with your hand. Once it’s of an even colour and capable of being rolled, it’s ready.

Divide the pastry into two. Roll one until it’s large enough to envelop a pie tin. Trim the edges.

Apple trees are easy to maintain compared to other fruit bearing trees. Much like real children, sowing from the pip ensures only disappointment. It is best to purchase a young tree for planting.

Plant somewhere sunny but sufficiently sheltered in a hole no deeper than the roots. Water during dry spells. Apples eaten when ripe give a +4 buff to dexterity that lasts twenty four hours. The apples are your sons now. Cast your children out. They’re free-range. At least you can eat an apple without your ex-husband giving you an angry phone call, again.

Take care when your crop is ready. While frowned upon in certain communities, it’s worth checking if any outdated laws are still in effect in your county. If you’re lucky, you may be able to kill scrumpers under the Farmer’s Clause but take great care as this may attract the attention of the police. Keep apples to hand as a bribery tool. Compost the corpses if possible. Braeburn apples are a good candidate for a pie.

Cover the pastry in your succulent apples. Stew them first. An apple jacuzzi. Only the best for your spoiled apples. Sprinkle with sugar and, if needed, cinnamon.

Roll out the other half of the pastry and place on top. Trim off excess and flute the edges, before slyly googling what flute means as a verb because what sort of tosspot uses flute nowadays outside of tooting on the instrument, this isn’t the fifteenth century.

Gouge the surface of the pastry gently before cooking for twenty to thirty minutes. Ingurgitate.


	5. Guacamole

Tasty and delicious, these vegetables look oddly like testicles, and much like real testicles there’s a hard center that can only be extracted with a knife. This dip serves twelve, apparently.

2 avocados, peeled and chopped. The core makes excellent ammo for when someone inevitably gets drunk at your party.

1 small red onion, chopped

1 clove garlic, minced

1 lime. Juice it if you want, or put the whole thing in at the end as a conversation starter.

Mash. That’s it. That’s guacamole. That’s all you need to do. Mash it. There’s nothing more. I’m crying, you’re crying, the kids are crying, the party ended two hours ago, mash. What else is there? Mash.


	6. And Now, Some Self Reflection

After following my dreams I’m afraid I’ve become burnt out with the glitz of the chef lifestyle. The fame, the glamour, the women, the pasta. It’s shiny but underneath there’s a dark, sweaty underbelly. It is with a great deal of sadness that I say normal content is resuming. Unfortunately, it was at a great cost. I have had to give up my dream after it came to light that I am simply Too Good at cooking meals for all functions and occasions. I was simply the Best at it. Other cooks began going mad and eating their own limbs in boredom. I couldn’t cope. The weight was too great. The metaphorical weight, I mean, not of the chefs, there wasn’t much of them left, but in any case, I must suppress my skill. I am considering a workaround with a permanent ‘cooking with boner’ sideblog, but we will have to see if my cells can cope with that raw _talent_. 


End file.
